


Twisted knife

by tveckling



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: (or not pls don't try at home), Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Graphic Description, Gun lube makes good lube, Hair-pulling, In which Leon S. Kennedy gets utterly ruined, Knifeplay, M/M, Manhandling, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mindfuck, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Resident Evil 4 canon divergence, Sexual Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Sex, Violence, Violent Sex, questioning of sanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 09:59:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: "Missed me, comrade?"The words are too loud in the sudden, blaring silence that is Leon's mind, and he feels a shiver run through his whole body. He knows that voice. He was sure he'd never hear it again.Jack.Krauser.He wants to turn around, wants to find outwhat's going on, but the sharp edge pressed against his neck stops any such impulses before he can fully realize them. There's a hand at his hip, one that's sofamiliar, and for a moment he's transported back to a dark jungle, warm even at night, hands grabbing each other harshly but without actual intent to hurt, moans greedily swallowed, pleasure spiking as bodies move together. Then he's back in the present. And he's confused, rattled, and slowly becomingpissed off, because the situation doesn't paint a good picture.





	Twisted knife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rnachine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rnachine/gifts).



> Birthday gift for my darling kao who deserves all the horrible twisted fucked up noncon <3 love you~

"Missed me, comrade?"

The words are too loud in the sudden, blaring silence that is Leon's mind, and he feels a shiver run through his whole body. He knows that voice. He was sure he'd never hear it again.

Jack. _Krauser_.

He wants to turn around, wants to find out _what's going on_ , but the sharp edge pressed against his neck stops any such impulses before he can fully realize them. There's a hand at his hip, one that's _so familiar_ , and for a moment he's transported back to a dark jungle, warm even at night, hands grabbing each other harshly but without actual intent to hurt, moans greedily swallowed, pleasure spiking as bodies move together. Then he's back in the present. And he's confused, rattled, and slowly becoming _pissed off_ , because the situation doesn't paint a good picture.

"You're dead," is all he says, working to sound casual even as he tries not to move against the knife's edge. It's already sipped a drop of his blood when it first pressed against his skin. He'd prefer not to give it any more.

"Do you think you're talking with a ghost, then?" Dark laughter hits his ear, and Leon grits his teeth and ignores the way his hair rises with pleasure. Then there's a light nip at his earlobe, and a rougher tug. "Would a ghost do this?"

"A poltergeist might," Leon pushes out, and he hates himself for how wrecked his voice sounds _already_. Damn Jack. Curse him, _that fucking asshole_ , always in control and always so damn amused about it, about how easily he can work Leon up. Leon's almost managed to be able to only look back on those memories with fondness. He needs to take control, quick, or he'll lose even before he's tried fighting back. "How are you still alive?"

"Did you really think I'd just let myself die in some accident? Still so fucking starry-eyed, kid."

Another short burst of laughter, then Jack bites down on Leon's neck hard, holding him still with his free hand—the arm that should be ruined, that the doctors deemed irreparable, _how_? Leon feels how the knife sips more of his blood, and he hates the shaky moan slipping from his lips. This is all _too familiar_. It's dangerous, when Jack clearly isn't who he was- who Leon thought he was. Something's going on, and he's feeling his frustration rise as he tries to figure out _what_.

"Then what happened? You should have come to me, whatever it was, we were partners-"

In a move Leon doesn't anticipate, before he's even finished speaking, Jack growls and rips away the knife before grabbing the back of Leon's head and pushing him face down into the grass, his own body pressing close to Leon's the whole way down. But without the knife Leon's free to move—free to fight. So he does, slams his elbow back, the grunt Jack releases more of a sign that he hit than the pressure he feels against the tip of his elbow. Following the movement he turns, pushes up against his assailant—because that's what Jack is, now, no matter how bad his mind wants to protest against it—and tries to get back to his feet. Before he can truly begin the rise, however, there's a hand pulling him back, a heavy body settling over his, and that same damn knife pushing against his neck. Again.

He'd continue to struggle, adrenaline and anger now coursing through his veins, but he looks up into Jack- _Krauser's_ face, and stills. He might've been accused of being naive, but he knows the look in his opponent's eyes, the particular grip Krauser holds the knife with. If he makes a wrong move now—which would likely be _any_ move—Krauser will slit his throat without any hesitation.

"We were never _partners_ ," Krauser hisses into his face, and Leon wonders if that hatred came before or after the 'accident'. "I was only a tool to be thrown away when I wasn't useful enough, and you… you were only a warm body for me to release stress in. That's all, and I can't fucking believe you ever thought something else."

It hurts, the words spit in his face, Leon can't deny that. His face burns, his chest aches, and he finds himself at a loss of words. What even is he supposed to say? He never imagined they were in some sort of _relationship,_ but- he'd thought they were partners, at least. Friends. Comrades. He _thought_ -

But it clearly doesn't matter. He was mistaken. Whatever he might have foolishly thought was wrong, evidently, and he needs to get over it _quick._

He breathes. Swallows. Breathes again. Forces himself not to try and decipher Krauser's expression as he stares up at him evenly. "What are you doing here? Are you working for Saddler?"

The sneer's only there for a quick second, but it tells Leon quite a bit about Krauser's feelings regarding the cult leader. "You shouldn't put your nose where it doesn't belong, kid."

"You shouldn't be here, Krauser. You can still leave, do some good. Saddler's a piece of shit who will destroy himself sooner or later, even if I don't kill him. You don't have to go down with someone you hate."

Krauser freezes for a moment, before his face twists with some emotion Leon can't decipher. The knife never wavers, though, and when Krauser abruptly pulls his hand back Leon can't do anything but close his eyes. The punch is hard, splits his lip, makes him taste blood, but he can't help the feeling of surprise because he _knows_ Krauser's capable of hitting much harder than that. The way his head twisted by the punch made the knife cut into his skin, however, and he soon stops thinking about Krauser's punch to worry about how deep the knife cut instead. He can feel blood run down the side of his throat, and it is _not_ what he'd call reassuring.

"You're still the same. The same righteous, naive, goody two-shoes, _idiotically_ stubborn kid. Fucking hell…" Krauser's voice is low, his hand strangely gentle as he moves to hold Leon's. But it's hard to focus on him, because the knife is _still_ pressed against Leon's throat, and he can _still_ feel his blood running.

"That attitude of yours will get you killed one day, Leon."

Hearing his name again, after so long time, with that voice, in that tone, makes Leon blink and focus on Krauser's face again. And the wistfulness meeting him stumps him, makes him lose whatever words had been gathering on his tongue. There's still the ache in his throat, the fear of blood loss, the coppery taste in his mouth—but he isn't surprised when Krauser leans down and kisses him. Trapped in this strange feeling of _the past_ , with the familiar weight on top of him, with the air still heavy with violence, he automatically closes his eyes and opens his lips to let Krauser's tongue push into his mouth. He can still feel the warmth of Krauser's hand wrapped around his wrist, and it's _familiar_. _Secure_.

Only it isn't. He remembers more and more, his body tensing minutely as the feeling of unease wraps around his heart even as Krauser devours him. It's been years, and in Leon's mind _Krauser_ became _Jack_ , and he doesn't know how, doesn't know when, doesn't know _why_.

He remembers the feel of flesh pushed against flesh, of hurried kisses in the dark, of being pushed against trees with Krauser pushed up against his back whispering filthy things in his ear.

He remembers bruises he had to tend to by himself. He remembers Krauser's willingness to sacrifice human lives. He remembers the way he sometimes felt like he had to walk on eggshells, with the strange looks he sometimes caught Krauser giving him, the sudden bursts of suspicion that he had to be careful or something _bad_ would happen.

And sanity rears its head as his eyes fly open, and with a burst of strength and speed Krauser clearly wasn't expecting he pushes the knife from his neck, ripping his other hand from Krauser's grip before pushing a gobsmacked Krauser to his back on the ground instead. Punching him feels good. Punching him feels _awful,_ makes Leon want to _cry_. He grits his teeth and continues hitting, easily ignoring his fists bursting with pain. Because he knows Krauser will not stay passive for long.

And he's right. Krauser's face is bloody, but his expression is _furious_ , and Leon barely manages to avoid the slash of the knife with only a light cut on his cheek as he rears back. Krauser moves quickly, tossing his body to throw Leon off completely, then aiming a kick that Leon parries with crossed arms, grunting at the impact.

He doesn't want this, he doesn't want to fight _Krauser_. Every part of him is screaming as he moves, parries hits and dodges the too sharp edge of the knife still shining with his blood. His movements are slow and hesitant, and he knows it, knows he needs to pull himself together—but he's still reeling from the sheer revelation that the man he'd thought of as a partner, who'd died, who he'd _mourned_ , apparently wasn't dead at all but instead working with a monster. He's still reeling from realizing that there was more to those fond memories than he'd led himself to remember. He's still reeling from that _kiss_ , and how easily he'd surrendered to it.

And, ultimately, his distraction proves to be his undoing. He's too slow, doesn't think clearly. Instead of seeing Krauser's knife as the feint it is, he moves to try to block it, leaving his left side unguarded. Krauser's always had a wicked left hook, and he knows where to aim. The fist hits his kidney in a quick jab, but it's powerful enough for Leon's air to cut off as he jerks back, pure mind numbing _pain_ shooting through his whole torso. And even as he stumbles back, trying to get enough air into his lungs so he can _gasp_ , shaking hands raised defensively, he can't help the thought that Krauser's hit should have hurt _a lot worse_. He shouldn't even be _standing_.

Krauser moves after him immediately, tossing the knife easily in one hand. Leon's gotten in a few good hits, but it doesn't show in the way he moves, confident and without hesitation. Still recovering from his mistake Leon has no chance of fending him off. He tries anyway, of course, and receives a mouthful of dirt as reward, Krauser's hand clamped tight in his hair. It only incentivizes him, makes him work harder on tossing Krauser off, pushing back against the heavy weight at his back—until that damn knife settles against his throat _again_. He knows the warning, even if Krauser doesn't say anything. He stops struggling, only gasps silently as he seethes.

And against his ear he can hear, can _feel_ , Krauser's heavy breathing too. But something tells him Krauser's not feeling the same frustration that's threatening to pull Leon apart. There's a _very familiar_ pressure against his ass, and he closes his eyes with a grimace as Krauser mouths at the area just below his ear.

"So stubborn," Krauser growls, the sound of it sending shivers down Leon's spine that he firmly ignores. "Fighting even though you don't actually want to. Stupid. Haven't you learned anything while we were apart?"

Tightening his fists Leon glares down at the grass and dirt. "Get- get _off of me_ , you bastard."

The husky chuckle almost makes Leon moan—he always had a weakness for the rare sound of Krauser laughing—but at the last moment manages to bit it back. Krauser's free hand travels along Leon's body now instead of gripping his hair, stroking across his stomach and chest, stopping to pinch one of Leon's nipples. He'd always been excited and eager to pull Leon aside after battles. Leon had been more than willing to be pulled aside, he remembers. He doesn't want to remember.

"Are you sure you don't mean to 'get you off' instead, hm, Leon? I know you. You're still the same excitable brat you were two years ago."

Anger and the thought of ' _how dare he'_ floods Leon's mind, and he starts fighting, mindless of the blade threatening to spill his blood at any moment. "Fuck you, Krauser!"

His struggling's subdued when his head's slammed into the ground, once, twice. When Krauser pulls him up and back his ears are still ringing, his head feeling like it'll split from the pain. He can't summon enough effort to care about Krauser's lips against his jaw. Not now.

The knife's still at his throat, a constant threat. He wishes he could care. But all he feels in the pounding in his head, the pain flashing through his side with every movement he makes, and the way Krauser's hand is exploring his body. He gives up, lets his head hang—a part of him is surprised his throat isn't cut open by the action, and it takes too long for him to realize Krauser must have lowered the knife the moment Leon moved—and closes his eyes. His head hangs freely, his hair brushing against the grass straws, he can _feel_ them. His elbows are aching from where they're pushed into the ground to keep him from falling down flat. He doesn't care.

Krauser moves against his ass, small, slow thrusting movements. "Still so stubborn. And so goddamn pretty. You're too pretty, Leon, too fucking irresistible. How can anyone not want to grab you and bend you over to fuck you?"

Leon grits his teeth and shakes his head slowly, so as to not disturb the knife—tries to make the pain go away, tries to make his head clearer, tries to make all his doubts and suspicions and _feelings_ go away. "Normal people don't think like that, Krauser," he says with only half a mind. "Only you act that way."

He doesn't notice the way Krauser stills, doesn't notice the shiver making the knife shake just the slightest, he doesn't hear the strange tone in Krauser's voice. Not until he hears the words. "Only me, huh. So _no one else_ has done it? For the past two years, has there only been _me_?"

For a moment his chest aches so badly Leon thinks he'll die. Then it disappears and he's filled with anger instead, _furious_ over what Krauser's insinuating. Furious that he's _right_. "You have nothing to do with it, you son of a bitch. I've been kept busy, trying to keep myself alive all the fucking time, and I sure as hell haven't been interested in trying to find someone-"

His voice cuts off into a shout as Krauser bites down on his neck, while he feels a hand harshly pulling at his belt. It doesn't escape him that Krauser's cock is much more prominent than before as the man pushes his whole body heavier against Leon's. Hatred swells as he notices his own body starting to react, and his hands shake with the force of holding himself back. He doesn't want to die—not here, not like this, not with Krauser's knife against his throat and his dick against his ass. Not when Ashley's somewhere close, counting on him.

"How can you be so fucking… two years, I thought after _two years_ I wouldn't… so fucking pretty, it's so fucking _ridiculous_..."

Krauser keeps muttering things, but the words fall in and out of Leon's ears as fast as they come. Beneath him he can see the grass get stained by drops of his blood, and he stares emptily while trying not to feel the rush of air hit his skin as Krauser pulls down his pants and underwear with a satisfied hiss. His whole body jerks as a hard hand grips him without warning, and he wants to sink into the ground at the _wanton_ whine that slips from his throat.

"Knew it," Krauser hisses as he kisses Leon's neck, jerking him harshly, painfully, without caring about the pained whines Leon can't stop. "You want this, don't you. So hungry for it, must take all you got not to beg."

"F-fuck you. Get _off of me_ , and stop _touching me_!"

Krauser makes a harsh snort and bites Leon's ear, letting go of Leon's cock, and Leon can _feel_ his mocking grin as his hips makes a reflexive, aborted movement to try and follow that hand. "Both of us know you don't really mean that, Leon. You should be honest—I know you better than that. But don't worry, I'll give you what you _really_ want. You must've been missing it so much over the last two years, haven't you?"

Even as he shakes his head, almost gone enough to forget about the knife, Leon knows it's no use. He's scared. He's back in the past, in sensations he was sure he'd never feel, in feeling Krauser's weight on his back, his breath on his ear, hearing his voice so close, feeling his hands on his body. And he's _so scared_ , even as his body reacts, even as his mind gets clouded, because he doesn't want this, he doesn't want to do this, he doesn't want to be forced down on his knees and fucked with a knife held against his throat by his volatile old partner who apparently came back from the fucking dead. And Krauser doesn't _care_.

He feels the body above his move away, just a little, just enough for the hand Leon _feels_ to get between them. And Leon knows what's going on, he knows what Krauser's doing even before he hears the zipper, even before he hears the relieved sigh, even before he feels something warm and slightly wet move against the spring of his ass.

Leon wishes he panicked. He wishes he started struggling, pushing against the ground, against the knife, against the body above his. He wishes he fought, even if that would mean a quick slash across his throat, deriving him of more blood than he could spare.

But he doesn't. He stays put, trembles going through his body, frozen as he stares into the grass. His mind's screaming, but his tongue's thick and dumb. He feels Krauser rub himself against his body, hears as he rummages around in his clothes with increasingly frustrated noises, until finally he lets out a huff and a 'fucking finally'. He hears a click, feels the pressure move away before being replaced by two fingers, coated in something thick and cold.

He does nothing.

The noise he makes when one of those fingers push into him would make him cry out in shame, but he only bites his tongue. Behind him Krauser chuckles, already sounding far more worked up, his breath coming heavier. "Guess gun lube's good for more than just guns, huh?"

His patience hasn't increased, Leon finds as Krauser works him open hard and fast—faster than comfortable, continuing to cause Leon to make those small pained sounds, constantly caught on the edge of pain and pleasure. With every passing moment his head gets murkier, sensations mixing together with memories, and Leon finds himself almost forgetting where he is, forgetting that Krauser's supposed to be dead, forgetting that Ashley's in danger, forgetting that he was forced into this. Forgetting that he doesn't actually _want_ this.

When Krauser pulls out his fingers Leon moans, automatically tries to push back, feeling empty and wanting that pleasure back. Krauser's laughter is quiet and intimate, on the edge of mocking but every impatient movement of his betraying how badly he _wants_ taking the sting away. And there's Krauser's hand on his hip, Krauser's cock—now slathered with the same oily substance as his fingers—rubbing against him, making his insides clench in anticipation.

And there's a shiver going through the body above him, and there's a quick slashing pain, and Leon remembers. There's a knife against his throat, ready to kill him at any moment, because he'd try to fight back otherwise, because he was forced down on his knees, because _he doesn't want this_.

But remembering doesn't actually change anything. There's still the knife, and Leon knows Krauser being distracted would only make him all the quicker to use it. He still can't do anything. So he blinks the tears from his eyes and pushes down his pride and makes himself talk, prays that someone listens, prays that it actually reaches through the lust Krauser's caught in.

"Please, Krauser… don't do this. _Please_."

His voice, albeit weak and shameful, doesn't break. He hears every word, hears the shame, hears the despair, hears the desperation. Prays that Krauser hears it all too.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you and make you feel good, just like I always do. I got you, comrade."

And despair's a crushing weight, hitting Leon all at once as Krauser pushes into him, slowly, carefully, working his way into Leon's body bit by bit. As though he cares, as though Leon's a partner he wants to take care of, as though he doesn't want to hurt Leon, as though Leon isn't being ripped apart—mentally, emotionally, if not physically—by what he's doing. The tears are too heavy to hold back, but at least the grass is quick to swallow them.

" _No…"_

Krauser either doesn't hear him or ignores it, ignores this last plea, the thing Leon tears from the very depths of his heart and delivers with bloody hands as his pride screams. It only falls on deaf ears.

With a drawn-out moan Krauser plasters himself against Leon's back, his cock a pulsing heat inside Leon. "Can't believe I've been missing out on this for two years. Memories never do the real thing justice, don't you think?"

Leon doesn't say anything, bites his lip, bites his _tongue_ not to say anything, but it proves useless as Krauser starts moving, his hips slowly pulling out a bit before harshly driving back in. It's been years, but it feels like no time at all as Leon's body reacts immediately. He tenses, strains, fights against it, but the noises are ripped from his throat, over and over and over as Krauser builds up speed. Pleasure builds within him, and Leon sobs, moans, keens, his body moving along with the thrusts, rocking back to meet Krauser's body. He has fistfuls of grass and dirt in both hands, but he can't make himself let go. The tears keep running, but he's closed his eyes to stop seeing them.

"Fuck, Leon- _fuck_."

Leon doesn't notice the knife disappearing from his throat until he hears it being stabbed into the ground, and he opens his eyes to stare at it as Krauser puts both hands on his hips. And then Leon's mind blanks out as Krauser _slams_ into him, tearing a scream from his throat, making his arms give out as he falls forward on his face. Krauser doesn't notice, continuing to pound into Leon with all his strength, and it's all Leon can do to hold on, turning his face to the side so he can at least breathe. He feels dirt and small stones biting into his skin, but he can't do anything, too weak, too wrecked, his mind a mess of pleasure and pain and anger and despair and lust, and even if he tried he wouldn't be able to distinguish one emotion from the other.

"K… rau.. ser…"

"Fuck, Leon, you feel so good. Should have taken you with me when I left; I've been missing this. _Fuck_ , you're so goddamn tight."

Leon shakes his head, focusing on moving one shaky arm so he can bury his face in it. Maybe if he does he can escape this. Maybe if he does he doesn't have to listen to Krauser's words or get lost in the pleasure he doesn't want.

"Come on, Leon, spread those legs for me, a bit more. It's not that hard, you used to do it so eagerly. Come on. There you go, God, that's- _fuck_. Yes. _Yes_."

Krauser keeps speaking, pausing in kissing and biting and leaving marks Leon knows he'll have to camouflage—though he never stops fucking Leon, with quick, harsh, deep thrusts. No matter what he does, no matter how far his mind wanders, that voice keeps bringing Leon back, again and again, pulling and dragging him, though he isn't sure where or when he is. All he knows is that this isn't supposed to happen, he isn't supposed to let this happen, he isn't supposed to enjoy this, enjoy Krauser's touch on his body. Not that it helps, knowing; he keeps moaning, keeps pushing back to get more, tears falling helplessly as he loses himself.

And it all breaks apart, _Leon_ breaks apart, when Krauser moves one of his hands to once again take Leon's cock and jerk him off in rhythm to his own thrusts, grip too tight, too hard. Painful. _Perfect_. The moan comes from deep in Leon's chest, his heart twisting while his body shakes, his muscles tensing as the pleasure mounts. He can feel Krauser's lips at his neck, finds himself wishing they were pushed against his own lips, wishing for Krauser to push his tongue against his, to bite and tug at his lips, to grab his hair as he demands surrender, to _devour_ him and all the thoughts whirling through his head.

"There we go," Krauser says, his words hitting Leon's skin. "Getting close, aren't you? I'll take you over the edge, make you fall with me, make you fall apart in my hands. Just a little more. So pretty, Leon, so tight, so good. All mine. Just mine. Only _mine_."

Leon can only moan, all words failing him as Krauser fills him. All he feels is Krauser inside of him, Krauser's hand on him, Krauser's lips against his skin. All he hear is Krauser's voice in his ear. All he thinks about is- all he thinks-

He thinks 'no'.

Krauser's movements turn erratic as he groans, the fast-paced rhythm he'd had stuttering. Leaning forward he tightens his grip around Leon, jerking him off faster. Still he moves in and out of Leon's body, pushing in as deep as he can before jerkily pulling out almost fully and then pushing back in, and it makes Leon _shake_ as he's getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on," Krauser whispers, his lips moving against Leon's ear, intimate and overwhelming, making his voice the only clear thing Leon hears, above all other sounds. "You're ready, aren't you? Come for me, Leon. _Come_!"

With a wrecked sob Leon does, mouth hanging open as he futilely tries to breathe, body shaking as he falls apart, until Krauser's hand on his cock is nothing but painful. And not until then, when Leon lies slumped hopelessly against the ground, eyes half open and empty, does Krauser return to chasing his own high. The way Leon clenches around him, the way he shakes, the way he cries out in pure pain only seems to make him go faster.

It doesn't take long for Krauser to stutter to a halt and empty himself in Leon's body, but it _feels_ like an eternity. Every movement hurts, every touch against his skin _hurts_ , and Krauser pulling out makes Leon want to curl up and cry. But he has no more tears, and he only blinks slowly, staring into empty air as he feels Krauser's come warm his insides. The moment he moves he knows it'll start leaking, running out of him, and he remembers cleaning himself with shaking hands so as to keep his clothes clean. He wonders if he can do that now. He wonders if Krauser will slit his throat now.

He decides he doesn't care. Later, he will. But not now.

Beside him Krauser stands, pulling his clothes back in order. Silent. Leon can feel his eyes, boring into him, but he doesn't have the energy to look back. He feels empty, gored out, like someone carved out all his emotions and left nothing but a hole in him.

He doesn't react when the knife's pulled out of the ground, only mildly wonders if this is where Krauser ends him. But nothing happens. Krauser doesn't kill him. Doesn't touch him. Doesn't do _anything_.

Until Leon hears the telltale sound of a blade being sheated, and then Krauser's voice.

"Leave, Leon. This is your one chance. Leave now, and you'll survive."

And that's it. Krauser walks away, loud and prominent footsteps becoming quieter until Leon doesn't hear them. And there are no other sounds, nothing but Leon's own breathing. He flexes his hands, slowly, tests them, feels them. Then he moves, pushes against the ground, pushing until he's back up on his knees. He feels the come run down his thigh.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He has a job to do, a mission to complete. Ashley's waiting for him. It doesn't matter what Krauser said, it doesn't matter what he did, it doesn't matter what they were and what they had and what could have been.

Leon presses his thumb lightly against his throat, and watches the blood as he pulls it away again. Nothing too bad, nothing deep. It doesn't matter.

He gets up on his feet, lets himself sway for just a moment, then pulls himself together as he pulls his clothes back in order. He has a job to do.


End file.
